


Our Steps Turn Planets

by PaxDuane



Category: Star Wars Legends: Jango Fett Open Seasons (Comics), Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Family, Good Parent Jango Fett, Jango Fett adopts Rabé, Jaster Mereel Lives, Jaster Mereel adopts Pre Vizsla, M/M, Mand'alor Jango Fett, Mandalorian Adoption (Star Wars), Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mandalorian Politics (Star Wars), Montross is a Kryze, Naboo Culture and Customs (Star Wars), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent-Child Relationship, Parental Jaster Mereel, Parenting Communities, Politics, Short Chapters, The True Mandalorians win the Clan War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxDuane/pseuds/PaxDuane
Summary: Jaster didn't die. The Clan Wars, ten years later, come to an end and Jaster retires. Jango is elected Mand'alor, the cold war with the New Mandalorians grates on everyone, and then there's a meeting of apology.Jango can easily keep up with his work as Mand'alor, but something about his relationship with Montross changes his dynamic with his family, for the better, despite the other man preferring to have nothing to do with the concept as a whole. Which, knowing the other Kryzes even as poorly as he does, Jango can't blame him for.[Explicit chapters marked in chapter title, rest of the fic is T-M]
Relationships: Arla Fett & Jango Fett, Arla Fett & Jango Fett & Jaster Mereel, Arla Fett & Pre Vizsla, Jango Fett & Jaster Mereel, Jango Fett & Pre Vizsla, Jango Fett/Montross, Jaster Mereel & Montross
Comments: 15
Kudos: 21





	1. A Bastard Called Politics (A Lover Named Apologies)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jango snorts. “The infighting.”  
>  “I didn’t even have to start any of that,” Montross says, smiling. “My return just made it louder.”  
> That somehow isn’t surprising. Thankfully, one of the staff brings by mugs of ne’tra gal so he can hide his own smile.  
> “I’m here to apologize as much as open communication between the New Mandalorians and the rest of the sector’s government,” Montross says at length. “I don’t expect forgiveness, but I wanted that to be up front, ahead of any further talks.”  
> _
> 
> There is always a beginning.

The weather is bad, when Jango and Jaster arrive at the tapcafe. Snow, for the first time in a long, long time. The atmosphere adjustments are taking, even if it’s bad for Jaster’s leg.

“I’m going to make stew tonight, do you want me to bring you leftovers?” Jango asks as they duck inside.

Jaster glances at him, inscrutable as usual. “You’re going into the office, after?”

“’Lek. The Dar’Kyr clans are making noises about not wanting their money to supply the farmers’ equipment.”

“What,” Jaster asks wryly, “Do they think would happen to their food supply?”

“At least they aren’t as bad as the New Mandalorians.”

Jaster laughs, looking ahead to the private rooms. “Which is why we’re here.”

Jango hides his shiver well. He doesn’t want to be here, no matter that it’s his job. But the Kryzes are prickly about talking with him. He’s honestly surprised, for reasons different than the other members of that clan, that this man asked to meet with him. Asked to meet with both of them.

“Ruus’alor,” the man drawls from the entrance to one of the private rooms. “Mand’alor.”

Jango gives him a tense, false smile. “Montross.”

Montross’s hair has gone near white, far more like the blonde most of the Kryzes are by default. Like most of the _Kalevalans_ have by default. Even Pre, whose lineage married in and out from the moment the Duchy was created, is pale haired, though his dar’buir wasn’t and their entire House was once green-dark from strong Taung genes sticking.

“Been a while,” Jaster says plainly as he sits down.

Jango’s back itches with Montross’s gaze as he follows his adopted father. The two of them sit across from Montross.

No armor, no weapons. That was Jango’s rule, surprisingly. He didn’t want Montross hiding any of the tricks that had become his usual in the ten years between when he betrayed the Haat’ade and when Kyr’tsad fell permanently.

Pre had been old enough, then, to be on the field. He hadn’t been, though. He’d been set to watching the New Mandalorian Duchy Clan and their Jedi protectors, keeping them from taking the final fall as a sign to subjugate the rest of the clans.

Jango killed Tor Vizsla, killed Kyr’tsad’s hopes for a new Empire, killed his kih’vod’s abuser and his first buire’s murderer.

He gained the Darksaber and Jaster retired happily.

“Eight years. Nearly nine,” Montross allows.

“You’ve behaved yourself more than most of Death Watch,” Jango says, not unkindly.

Montross’s eyes slide over to him. “I’ve tried to make up for the mistake that saw me leave the Haat’ade. Working towards a Mandalore where the Kryzes hold no power is difficult, when you’re in their midst.”

Jango snorts. “The infighting.”

“I didn’t even have to start any of that,” Montross says, smiling. “My return just made it louder.”

That somehow isn’t surprising. Thankfully, one of the staff brings by mugs of ne’tra gal so he can hide his own smile.

“I’m here to apologize as much as open communication between the New Mandalorians and the rest of the sector’s government,” Montross says at length. “I don’t expect forgiveness, but I wanted that to be up front, ahead of any further talks.”

Jaster nods. He probably expected this from the moment the request had come. “You could have successfully killed me,” he tells Montross.

Jango hates that fact—they’ve known it since the betrayal, how easily it could have happened. Montross was one of them, once, and he will never be again, but…

“Alor,” Montross says, “I would have poisoned myself by it.”

Sentiment saved Jaster’s life. They’ve known it all this time, but to hear it…

Jaster smiles. “I’m glad you did not, for yourself as much as my own life. I’ve been ready for forgive you for decades.”

Jango clenches his hands and drinks his ale.

Jaster finishes his own and waves off a refill. “I’m old, now,” he tells Montross, “I’ll be going home. Jan’ka, tell your siblings and Reb’ka I’ll see them soon. You two have your own things to work out.”

Jango sighs and takes a refill of his own. Once Jaster has safely made it out the door, both of them watching carefully, he starts to outline what they’ll need to talk about with the New Mandalorian government.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *worldbuilds the fuck out of this*
> 
> Ruus'alor -- Retired Mand'alor


	2. [E] Let Me Apologize a Thousand Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Montross leans over, catches his hand. “Let me apologize a thousand times. Please.”  
>  Jango watches him, then shrugs. “Fine, then. Apologize.”  
> Montross eyes him for a moment, then gets up and shuts the door between their private room and the hall out to the rest of the tapcafe. That done, he sits next to Jango and presses his lips right under his ear. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he promises.  
> _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual Content ahead.
> 
> Kissing, biting, erotic touching, scent gland play, blowjob, height difference.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” Montross says as they wind to a close. “You hated government work.”

Jango laughs. “I was fourteen the last you saw me doing anything like that… And after… I took a lot more responsibility.”

Montross breathes out, eyes shut. “Jan’ika.”

“No,” Jango grits out, “You do not get to call me that again.”

Montross leans over, catches his hand. “Let me apologize a thousand times. Please.”

Jango watches him, then shrugs. “Fine, then. Apologize.”

Montross eyes him for a moment, then gets up and shuts the door between their private room and the hall out to the rest of the tapcafe. That done, he sits next to Jango and presses his lips right under his ear. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he promises.

Jango is wide eyed, at first, but he breathes out a sigh as Montross begins to kiss down his neck. “This…”

“Not new,” Montross admits, “But then, it’s only been since the battle of Galidraan.”

“Nineteen is still young,” he points out as Montross works his large hands under the hem of his shirt.

“Mm. But physically mostly grown. And you were gorgeous in your bloodlust.” The older man noses into Jango’s collar and gently bites at the scent gland there.

Jango sucks in a breath, one hand coming up to settle on the back of Montross’s neck.

“And then, after you won and took the ‘sabre, you’ve been working so hard for the good of all Mandalore sector,” the man murmurs against his skin. “You are phenomenally _good_ , ‘alor.”

“I’m doing my best, but…” Jango cuts himself off when Montross pinches one of his nipples. “Hey!”

Montross laughs against his skin, the vibrations rumbling through him where they’re touching. “I will not hear anyone speaking poorly of my ‘alor,” he teases.

“Kark you,” Jango snips, eyes falling shut.

Montross hums, right against his neck. “If you’re willing.”

Jango huffs. “I need to make dinner.”

“So I’ll be quick.” He pulls back and kisses Jango on the lips, soft and gentle before snaking his tongue in and making it absolutely filthy. “Well, ‘alor?”

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, pulling Montross in for another kiss.

Montross smiles into it and one of the hands that has been caressing Jango’s chest dips down, unfastening his breeches’ closure and working its way into his smalls.

Jango was already half hard, from the contact and the growing scent of spiced vanilla from the attention given to his neck, so it doesn’t take much for Montross to get him fully erect and panting.

“Gorgeous,” Montross murmurs into his lips, sliding his hand further down to fondle his sac and press against the scent glands along his inner thighs.

Jango whines, but cuts it off with wide eyes as Montross pulls back. They stare at each other, for a moment, then Montross grins.

His other hand goes to Jango’s knees, under one to push it up and hook Jango’s ankle over his shoulder, pressing in again to kiss him and swallowing the noises that pour out of him.

He yelps as one of Montross’s fingers circles his entrance, pulling back from the kiss to glower at him. “We do not have time for that,” he pants.

Montross manages to look smug, but he brings all his fingers back up to go back to rubbing at Jango’s cock.

“You…?”

“This is an apology,” he reminds him, grinning again when he growls. “Let me make you feel good, ‘alor.”

Before Jango can say anything in answer, he’s gone to his knees before Jango’s seat and licks a stripe along Jango’s cock, adjusting the leg over his shoulder so Jango’s thigh settles comfortably against it.

Jango keens softly as Montross takes him into his mouth, muffling the sound with his wrist. He pants and bucks into the older man’s mouth as the tension in his gut builds. “M’close,” he murmurs.

Montross hums around his cock, making him keen again, then swallows as Jango spills into his mouth and down his throat. As he pulls off, he kisses Jango’s softening cock and makes the younger man squirm from the overstimulation. Then, he tucks Jango back into his clothes and pulls him to stand against him.

Jango feels small, the top of his head still barely reaching Montross’s chin, and finds it more than a little exhilarating. “Well then,” he murmurs. He can feel Montross’s erection against his hip, but the older man made it clear.

“I believe I still owe you,” Montross says, tucking a knuckle under his chin. “Maybe another time, ner ‘alor.”

Jango breathes out. “Well, I do have your comm code.”

Montross smiles. “Just remember that you can use it for more than just politics.”

Jango raises his eyebrows and gives him a flat look. “Hush.”

Montross leans down to kiss his neck again, right where he bit it near the beginning of this…tryst. Softly, he sucks on the skin, making Jango moan again. “Something to remember,” he says as he comes back up, pulling Jango’s collar closed. “Until we meet again, Mand’alor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The owner of that tapcafe knows exactly what happened in that room and WILL be holding it over Jango's head for the rest of forever in the way only a friend can. A friend who you give money for booze and food.


	3. Family Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Buir,” Rebene starts, halfway through her stew.  
>  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he chides, spork in hand.  
> She makes a twelve-year-old’s show of chewing and swallowing.  
> Pre snickers, then jumps with a thud that can only mean Arla kicked him under the table.  
> “Where’d that mark come from?” Rebene asks, mouth clear, as she points to his neck. _
> 
> Jango wouldn't trade his daughter for the whole galaxy, but she has a pre-teen's timing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally the entirety of this fic, before I decided to add smut. And then it grew legs.

“Buir,” Rebene starts, halfway through her stew.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he chides, spork in hand.

She makes a twelve-year-old’s show of chewing and swallowing.

Pre snickers, then jumps with a thud that can only mean Arla kicked him under the table.

“Where’d that mark come from?” Rebene asks, mouth clear, as she points to his neck. “Did you get hurt last night?”

He slaps his hand up, pressing his collar closer to his neck as both his older sister and adopted younger brother peer over. From the bit Rebene caught sight of, painter’s eye sharp even across the table, it probably looks like a scrape.

“Do you have a hickey?” Pre asks, delighted like he’s five years younger than he actually is.

Arla, however, is far more suspicious. “Didn’t you meet with that huut’un, at lunch? How did you get a hickey?” She pauses, expression darkening before she shoves back her chair, slamming her spork down. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Arla,” he hisses.

“He’s the one who nearly got Jas’buir killed,” she snaps. “If he touched you…”

“It wasn’t like that,” Jango insists.

She raises an eyebrow. Pre is watching enraptured; he was such an only sibling before they adopted him. “You _let_ him?”

“Jas’buir met with him too,” Jango reminds both of them, hoping to throw them off.

“Does he know you got a hickey?” Arla accuses. “You know what, I’ll comm him.”

“What’s going on?” Rebene asks as Arla storms off and Jango buries his face in his hands. “Who are you guys talking about?”

“Montross Kryze,” Pre explains. “He conspired with my dar’buir to kill Jaster but couldn’t follow through. Still, he’s why your ba’buir retired once Kyr’tsad was routed.”

Rebene ponders and processes for a moment. “Why’d you meet with him, Buir?”

Jango sighs and pokes at his stew. “He wanted to apologize for what he did.”

“And the Kryzes are still putting pressure against us with their pretty Kalavalan titles,” Pre mutters.

He’s not wrong.

“And you accepted the apology?” she asks.

“Jaster did. And he left, after a bit. He was tired; you know how your ba’buir is.”

Rebene nods.

“But you stayed,” Pre notes. “You didn’t accept the apology, and you stayed, and now you’re here with at least one hickey.”

Jango huffs, rubbing his neck. “He wanted to convince me.”

“And did he?” Pre’s ungodly blonde eyebrows are both raised as he carefully watches Jango.

Jango takes a breath, holds it. “He…may still have some work to do.”

Pre cackles, the bastard. “Kar’la osik,” he laughs. “You seriously…? Oh, Arla will be both furious and furious she missed this.”

Rebene’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Gross.”

“Hey, you brought it up,” Pre teases.

“Can I be excused?” she asks, glaring at her ba’vodu.

“Yes, just don’t forget to put water in your bowl when you bring it back down,” Jango reminds her, smiling as she takes off in a huff. Adopting her really was the best decision he’s made since becoming Mand’alor.

“Seriously, though,” Pre says, softer now. “You don’t need to play tonsil limmie with him just because we don’t want the Kryzes pushing too much before we’re ready to get them out of Sundari.”

“I know that.” It may be why he was willing to listen at first, but… “He really has changed, a bit. He really is sorry. And _not_ sorry that he didn’t follow through, so don’t even say that.”

“He’s still an asshole, though,” Pre guesses.

“Absolutely terrible,” Jango admits with a gripe.

“But you like it.”

Jango glares. “Kark off. Arla already wants to commit murder. I’ll let her know just what happened to her favorite barn coat.”

Pre holds his hands up in surrender. “Ni gev, ni gev.”

Jango huffs and takes his empty bowl to the kitchen, fully meaning to get out of the house to go do some work before Arla can try to lecture him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buir -- Mando'a and Concordian. Parent.  
> Huut'un -- Mando'a. Coward, arguably one of the worst insults to a Mandalorian. In this case, Montross.  
> Dar'buir -- Mando'a and Concordian. Former parent; parent you've disowned or been disowned by. In this case, Tor Vizsla.  
> Ba'buir -- Mando'a and Concordian. Grandparent, parent's parent.  
> Kar'la osik -- Mando'a and Concordian. Lit. Starry shit; holy shit.


	4. Rock the World, Make the Galaxy Shake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jaster pats him on the shoulder. “Really, Jan’ka. Are you being stubborn for yourself, or because of your sister?”  
>  “I’m busy,” he retorts, taking the food containers back up from the counter. “Like, right now, I need to go work.”  
> “You’re working yourself to death, Jan’ka,” Jaster says and he sounds exhausted. “Take some time for yourself.”_
> 
> Parents worry for their children. Jango just wishes this wasn't a big enough issue for Jaster to worry about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello this was a necessary part that I had not realized I needed until I posted the first two parts. So getting it done is why these are. Late.

“Your or’tat is still annoyed about Montross,” Jaster tells him, days later when he’s picking up empty food containers and replacing them with their latest dinner.

Jango rolls his eyes. “She wasn’t there, she can complain all she wants but I’m not changing how I do business with him, or stopping at all, just because she doesn’t like him.”

Jaster eyes him cannily. “Have you called him again?”

Jango breaths out evenly eyebrows raised high as he tries to work out how to answer that, setting the empty containers down. This is apparently going to be a conversation. Because of course it is.

“You should.”

Now Jango sighs. “Buir.”

“You liked him enough to let him screw you, I don’t know why you’re hesitating.”

“It’s not that I like him.” Jango huffs and throws his hands wide. “It was an apology.”

“Lot different from the one I got.”

Okay, now he knows for sure that, despite their shields both being beskar solid, Jaster is laughing at him. “Chakaar.”

Jaster pats him on the shoulder. “Really, Jan’ka. Are you being stubborn for yourself, or because of your sister?”

“I’m busy,” he retorts, taking the food containers back up from the counter. “Like, right now, I need to go work.”

“You’re working yourself to death, Jan’ka,” Jaster says and he sounds exhausted. “Take some time for yourself.”

Jango stares at his adopted father. “You really think that being around _Montross_ is time for myself.”

Jaster is the one to raise his eyebrows this time. “Considering how he looked at you, at the tapcafe, I’d say he’d at least make you think about only yourself for some time.”

Jango can’t help the shiver that goes down his spine—even before Jaster left, then, Montross had been looking at him, and he hadn’t noticed. “Jaster...”

The old man wraps him in a hug. “I am not asking much, Jan’ka. I’m asking that you take any chance to have some fun—you’re still young after all—Montross aside. But I saw you when you came after dinner, and you were more relaxed than you’d been in years even with your tate getting on your nerves. If it wasn’t for who it was, I’d have commented then.”

“I...” Jango is at a loss, with his forehead pressed to Jaster’s shoulder. “Do you really think it’s a good idea?”

Jaster hums. “I don’t think it would hurt anything, Jan’ka. But it’s up to you.” Jaster pauses, then adds, “It would piss Arla right off.”

Jango laughs. “And that’s as good a reason as any?”

Jaster pats his shoulder again. “That’s aliit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or'tat -- Concordian. Big sibling.  
> Buir -- Mando'a and Concordian. Parent.  
> Chakaar -- Mando'a and Concordian. Corpse thief.   
> Aliit -- Mando'a and Concordian. Family or clan.


	5. [E] You Light My Path With Bitemarks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Arla kemi verd’yust,” Jango yawns as Montross strokes his stomach.  
>  “Your ori’vod? That’s right, you freed her from Kyr’tsad.” Teeth sink into the meat of his hip, making him groan. “Why?”  
> “You weren’t exactly cautious with your mark,” Jango snips. “My ad noticed.”  
> Montross’s answering laugh rumbles through him as the older man tugs his back flush against his chest. “Jate’shya gar mesh.”  
> Jango elbows him in the ribs._
> 
> Time for round two (or three).

“Arla kemi verd’yust,” Jango yawns as Montross strokes his stomach.

“Your ori’vod? That’s right, you freed her from Kyr’tsad.” Teeth sink into the meat of his hip, making him groan. “Why?”

“You weren’t exactly cautious with your mark,” Jango snips. “My ad noticed.”

Montross’s answering laugh rumbles through him as the older man tugs his back flush against his chest. “Jate’shya gar mesh.”

Jango elbows him in the ribs.

“Ner mesh’la ‘alor,” he croons, fingers stroking down until he’s caressing the inside of Jango’s thighs.

Jango hisses in a breath of sage and vanilla, panting as the petting continues. “Gev’ka.”

Montross’s hand stills. “Pare ra gev?”

Jango rolls his eyes. “Pare.”

“Concordian,” Montross scoffs, lips against Jango’s neck.

“This wouldn’t be possible if I wasn’t,” he points out, still breathing heavily. “Not unless I was from Shili.”

Teeth, then, high on the back of his neck, behind his ear.

The hand is still a present weight between his thighs. “Nari,” he pants, head dipping so his forehead meets the pillow.

Jango whines as fingers massage his scent glands again, musking spiced vanilla over Montross’s hand while teeth worry sage against his skin. Montross’s other arm worms its way under his side to clutch at him, palms his chest as it heaves with exertion. He writhes against Montross, reaching back to cup his neck and bring him closer.

“Eager again already,” Montross says, no little bit of wonder in his voice. Then, with a grunt, “I’m really too old for this.”

Jango’s hips buck as fingers travel up, press against his perineum. “You started it, ruus’ad.”

“What can I say?” The same fingers dip back, pressing up and into his stretched, sticky entrance. “You’re tempting.”

“Chaakar,” Jango pants, losing his grip on Montross’s neck to brace them both a little more against the mattress. “Kark.”

“Oh?”

Jango whines again as the fingers lazily pump in and out of him.

“Use your words, ‘alor,” Montross rumbles. “I know you’re good with them.”

Jango collects himself, regulating his breathing and bracing himself further. “Fine, then,” he says breezily. “If you just continue edging me, I’m going to flip us over and use you like the shabuir you are. If you’re going to kark me again, get to it.”

Montross hums, his fingers slip out, and a few moments later he’s pressing back into Jango, sheathing himself fully inside him and rolling their hips against each other.

“Jate,” Jango breaths. “Nar dralshy’a.”

Montross’s laughter rumbles through him as he acquiesces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Arla kemi verd'yust." -- Mando'a and Concordian. Lit. Arla is walking the soldier's road; Arla is on the warpath. How was this not already something???  
> Ori'vod -- Mando'a. Older sibling.  
> Kyr'tsad -- Mando'a and Concordian. Death Watch.  
> Ad -- Mando'a and Concordian. Child. In this case, Rebene/Rabé.  
> "Jate'shya gar mesh." -- Mando'a. Lit. "It bettered your beauty." / "It added to your beauty."  
> "Ner mesh'la 'alor." -- Mando'a. "My beautiful leader."  
> Gev'ka -- Concordian. Little stop / wait.  
> Gev -- Mando'a and Concordian. Stop.  
> Pare -- Mando'a. Wait.  
> Ra -- Mando'a and Concordian. Or.  
> Nari -- Mando'a and Concordian. Move.  
> Ruus'ad -- Mando'a and Concordian. Old man. In this case, Montross.  
> Chaakar -- Mando'a and Concordian. Corpse thief.  
> Shabuir -- Mando'a and Concordian. Extreme insult, like a stronger "jerk". Etymology suggests "wooden parent" or "someone who can't parent because they're too wooden" alternatively, dildo.  
> Jate -- Mando'a and Concordian. Good.  
> Nar dralshy’a -- Mando'a and Concordian. Put your back into it / try harder / work harder.


End file.
